Leaving Corporate America to Travel America

Tag: North Park

My biggest worry going into this trip was leaving my family and friends behind. It’s now 4 months into our travels and we’ve had a total of 17 visitors. That’s 4 visitors per month. Not bad, eh? Constantly seeing the people I love has made the transition to this foreign city very smooth. It’s also better enabled me to enjoy this life changing experience.

Our previous visitors traveled from Florida, Georgia, South Carolina and California. Today, our visitor comes from the Big Apple. Fabianna will be landing at the San Diego Airport in mere moments.

I drive around the small airport a few times, waiting her call. The familiar sound of my generic Apple iPhone ringtone blasts through the phone speaker. “I’m here! Yay!” says the enthusiastic voice of my old friend. I spot a tall, thin figure glistening in the afternoon sun. She carries a designer suitcase, wears fashionable boots, and rocks an ombre hairstyle. No doubt it’s Fabianna. We exchange hugs before hopping in the car and heading back to my apartment.

Despite being on vacation, Fab has some work to do today. She’s from NYC, after all. This allows me to catch up on some shut-eye after a hectic birthday weekend. Hours later, I’m awake and Fab is still working. Once ready to adventure, my friend sets her work status to “away” and hops in the car with me towards Cowle’s Mountain.

Although this is my 3rd time hiking this mountain, the experience is yet to get old. Being with a friend I haven’t seen in a year doesn’t hurt either. After a mile and a half hike, Fab and I take a seat in a secluded spot atop the mountain. With a hectic and stressful work schedule in NYC, Fabianna greatly enjoys this moment of fresh air and nature. However, she is unable to full withdraw from social media and soon takes out her phone and clicks the Snapchat app. We smile as the camera shutter snaps the first selfie of the trip. The first of many.

The hike down flies by as Fabianna and I catch up on the past year of our lives. Before picking up Misha from work, we stop by Trader Joe’s and buy orange chicken and fried rice; a meal we often consumed in college. As we near Misha’s office, I am engulfed with excitement as Misha and Fabianna are about to meet for the first time (well, excluding the time they chatted on Facetime for a split second). Ironically, I miss their first encounter, as I ran into the office to fill up my water bottle.

Back at the apartment Fabianna and I begin planning our next few days. Clearly displeased with my current itinerary consisting of “Friday – Padres Game” followed by a bunch of blank rows, Fabianna takes over the job. If I hadn’t known what a master planner my friend was before, I sure do now. Within minutes Fabianna has sorted through countless Groupon and Living Social offers and Googled every restaurant in the metropolitan San Diego area. My previously bare itinerary is now an ornately formatted, Arial font, size 10, boxed, bordered and color-coded masterpiece. Let the fun begin.

Upon awakening Friday morning we head straight to the well-known and highly recommended Richard Walker’s Pancake House. The line is out the door, as usual, but as we’re a party of 2, our wait is a mere 10 minutes. Fabianna and I order coffee and pigs in a car (sausage wrapped in pancakes).

We then head to the zoo. This is my 3rd time here and I feel like I know this place like the back of my hand. I weave Fabianna through the gems of this ginormous place, including the baby gorilla and orangutan stops. Fabianna, a lover of plants, is more mesmerized with the diversity of florae than the wildlife. She stops to take a picture of every succulent we pass.

Among many other things, the San Diego Zoo is famous for their pandas. Unfortunately, the wait is always extremely long and I’m yet to see these endangered species. Today, however, Fabianna and I decide to endure the 45 minute wait. The sight of the two pandas is genuinely enjoyable. They sit there, fat and content, chomping on bamboo. Seemingly, this is all they do. I’m surprised to learn that these cuddly creatures eat about 30 pounds of bamboo a day.

By mid-afternoon we leave the zoo and head back to my apartment. Tonight we’re going to my first Padres game. That’s the San Diego Padres – San Diego’s baseball team. Fabianna and I dress up and head to the stadium an hour before the first pitch. We locate a rooftop bar beside the stadium, Rare Form, and make our way up the stairs for the pre-game happy-hour. This place is truly amazing. Not only are the cushions comfy and the inexpensive drinks delicious, but we can literally see into the stadium. This is arguably the best view in the house. While Fab and I are sipping on our Pina Coladas and enjoying each other’s company, Misha arrives at the bar. Soon after, we head down to the Petco Park entrance. No offense to my fellow Braves fans, but Petco is a step up from Turner Field. The food and beer selection here is unlike any sports stadium I’ve been to. We order brats and Italian sausages along with craft beer before heading to our seats in the nose bleed section. From the comfort of our seats we are exposed to the gorgeous downtown skyline.

It’s the second game of the year for the home-town Padres and they come out victorious. Brandon Morrow pitches his way to a 1-0 victory over the in-state rival, San Francisco Giants. We stay a bit after the game to watch the fireworks show before heading to the streets below. Unlike many big-city downtown areas, San Diego has a lively nightlife. The 3 of us head to a rowdy bar named Bub’s at the Ballpark, where we meet up with our friends Patrick, Ainsley, Matt and Shane. We celebrate the win and enjoy some more beer. As the clock hits 1 a.m. we decide it’s time to call it a night.

I wake up excited for the day to come. Today Fab and I are going whale and dolphin watching. This is something I would never in my wildest dreams have thought of. But thanks to Fab’s incredible research skills, we got 2 cheap tickets to this awesome event. By 9 a.m. Misha drops us off at the San Diego Harbor where we aboard the Hornblower cruise ship. The ship is packed with tourists and volunteers. Volunteers share information about the creatures we’re about to see. As we depart from the harbor I point out the massive sea lions sun bathing on the docks. One brave sea lion follows the ship and splashes in the wake. We pass Point Loma, where Misha and I had been two months ago, before sailing another hour into the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Here we spot at least 300 dolphins. It’s mind-boggling how many dolphins are around us. These beautiful mammals jump joyfully and glide through the water. They turn on their sides in mid-air before plopping against the endless blue. Upon closer look, Fabianna and I spot baby dolphins swimming with their mothers.

After two hours, the captain announces that it’s time to return home. To our discontent, we’re still to see any whales. Before starting the motors, the captain agrees to wait 10 more minutes in the unlikely hope of spotting these ocean monsters. One of the workers speaks over the intercom, asking everyone aboard to make deep whale sounds. Fabianna and I laugh as the entire boat, us included, calls out, “ooooo ahhh ooooo uhhhh oooo ahh.” Suddenly, one of the tourists on the boat yells out, “whale.” Everyone rushes over to where the man stands and looks towards the water. The whale is not to be seen. We continue our desperation whale calls until a huge chunk of mass emerges from the water. A spout of water shoots out of the enormous blowhole, elevating yards into the air. The volunteers explain that this is a Finback Whale, the 2nd largest whale known to man.

The two hour journey back is relaxing as was sip on Mimosas and learn whale facts from the volunteers. Before returning to civilization, Fab and I check out the whale artifact presentation. We’re the only ones in attendance.

Since my birthday lasts a month. Misha takes Fabianna and me to dinner at a Russian restaurant in North Park, Pomegranate. In the 20 months Misha and I have been dating, this is our first time at a Russian restaurant. Although excited, I can’t imagine the food here will compare to Misha’s mom’s scrumptious cooking. Misha drops Fabianna and I off and heads to find parking. Fabianna and I are greeted by Demetri, the owner of the restaurant. We seem to make a good impression as Demetri offers to be our server. Misha soon arrives to the table and helps select our meals for the evening. We order golubtsi, chakhokhbili and chakapuli. If you don’t know what these foods are look them up. And then find a place that makes them. Because they are to die for. As we finish our meal I can tell I’ll soon be developing cravings for Russian food.

After dinner, Misha and I do our best to introduce Fabianna to North Park. Our first stop is a bar called Hamilton’s Tavern. This bar, known for its absurdly massive beer selection, has a ceiling covered with beer taps. While sipping on our drinks, I try to get Fabianna to talk to a handsome guy playing billiards. Being the outgoing girl she is, Fabianna agrees and sparks a conversation with him. She comes back shortly after with the unfortunate news that this man is gay. At least we tried.

Next stop is Bar Pink, which is ironically a gay bar. The interior is decorated with pink elephants and martini glasses while the DJ plays hits from the 60s. The 3 of us snag a pool table and play a couple of rounds, Fabianna impressing most. As with most bars in North Park, we’re surrounded by scraggly hipsters.

Sunday is our last day together. We spend the morning shopping along Prospect Street and sunbathing on the beach. Deciding to get some physical activity in and sweat out the toxins we accumulated the past few nights, we then head to Torrey Pines State Reserve for a leisurely hike. As the sun begins to set we head back to the apartment and cook dinner. Another scrumptious meal. The night is bittersweet as I chat and watch TV with one of my best friends, all the while knowing she is leaving the next morning. Fabianna is one of the funniest people I know and she constantly brings a smile to my face. It may be a while until I see her again and I’ll surely miss her.

I wake up in high spirits. It’s been slightly over a month since we arrived in San Diego and today our first out-of-state visitor arrives. Leslie has been my friend since we were little kids riding skateboards on our butts down my parent’s driveway. In a few hours she will complete her flight from Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport to San Diego International. Although I haven’t felt overly homesick, it’s still comforting to have a taste of home. After all, I spent the better part of the past 15 years living in Atlanta.

I check my phone frantically waiting for Leslie’s text, notifying me of her arrival. And there it is. I excitedly hop in my car and head to the airport, located 10 minutes from our house. Scanning the terminal entrance, I notice a tall thin figure waving her arms. I pull up to the curb, exit the car and embrace my old friend. Oh, how I’ve missed her!

“I’m so ready for the sun,” she exclaims. Leslie is in much need of a change from the dreary winter temperament in Atlanta.

We head back to my place and park along the street. I give a brief tour of my teensy home before preparing a pair of ham and cheese sandwiches. We scarf them down, eager to get out on the beach. Although Leslie has already been to San Diego a few times, she’s never been to Pacific Beach, or ‘PB’ as it’s known here. I decide this is the perfect place for some sunshine and relaxation after a long flight during the wee hours of the morning.

We arrive at the beach and approach the sand and water. Brr, I shiver. It seems Leslie brought the cold with her from Atlanta. Determined to get some sun, we lay flat on the sand attempting to escape the brisk wind. Luckily, the temperature increases slightly. Before we know it, Leslie and I are burned. Despite the redness spreading across her body, Leslie seems pleased with having gotten sun for the first time in weeks.

Leslie and I then vote to stop by La Jolla before picking Misha up from work. We snag a prime parking spot right by La Jolla Cove. As we walk approach the water, searching for sea lions, we are smacked in the nostrils with an almost unbearable stench. We look to our right and identify swarms of camouflaged sea lions sun bathing atop black rocks. All around them are various sea birds. The birds don’t travel far to do their business, as the rocks are lathered with fresh and aged droppings, causing the foul scent. We cautiously open the small gate separating the sidewalk from a small path leading down to the rocks. We walk towards the sea lions, attempting not to disturb them. Once close enough, we snap a photo. We then quickly turn around and hurry up the hill to escape the rancid smell. With it still being too early to head to Misha’s office, we decide to pick up a nutritious smoothie from Mr. Juice and fulfill our shopping fix on Prospect Street, a popular area for shoppers in search of luxurious brands. Our first stop is at a make-up boutique named Benefit, where we end up spending most of our time receiving free makeovers and getting talked into buying cosmetics we don’t need.

After picking up Misha from work, we head back to our home. We’re all starving. To Leslie and my pleasant surprise, Misha cooks us a divine meal of goat cheese and basil stuffed hamburgers and sliced red potatoes. Before we know it, Leslie and my first day has ended. We have the type of relationship where we don’t need to communicate regularly to fulfill our friendship. Whenever we see each other we simply pick up right where we last left off.

Prior to Leslie’s arrival, she and I planned out all the activities we wanted to do together. This list turned out quite lengthy. After an elongated night’s rest, Leslie and I hop out of bed Friday morning eager to check off a large fraction of this list. We first head to Old Town. Old Town is considered the “birth place of California” and the earliest indication of people living in San Diego, 9,000 years ago. The native Indians called themselves the Kumeyaay and when the Spanish explorer, Cabrillo, settled in San Diego he described them as “good natured and attractive people.” It doesn’t take Leslie and me long to figure out this gimmicky area is a tourist trap; however, it is still fun to explore the souvenir shops and entertain ourselves with the cultural attractions. The Mexican restaurant, Cafe Coyote, in itself makes the trip worth it. We sip on icy Margaritas and traditional Mexican food in a cultural and festive environment. There are colorful courtyards, splashing fountains, flower scented air and historic Mexican music adding to the authentic ambience.

Having eaten too much, we roll out of the restaurant and navigate to Coronado Island. Although Leslie and I have both been here, the beauty never gets old. We first stop at the Coronado Tidelands Park, located along the bay of San Diego near the Coronado Bridge. We sit atop a wall and let our feet dangle down towards the ever-blue water. We admire the skyline of downtown San Diego, positioned in front of us, while the intriguing architecture of the Coronado Bridge rests to our right. Directly below us sting rays meander in the clear water. The sky is overcast, but the scene is still elegant and peaceful. We take some time to simply talk and catch up as we’ve done on many occasions these past 16 years.

Feeling physically calm but mentally elated, we drive over to Hotel Del, a luxury hotel, open since 1888, with classic red and white wooden Victorian architecture. The hotel’s beach front view and unique history has lured many noble guests including presidents, royalty and celebrities. We circle the grounds admiring the herb gardens and greenhouses, stylish cottages and pools, and over-priced shopping area. Unable to control our sweet tooth we manage to add homemade ice cream to the cacophony forming in our stomachs.

Needing to exercise away the 10,000 calories we ate today, I suggest a hike down to Misha and my discovery from the weekend before: Black’s Beach. Always one for new experiences, Leslie agrees. We park at the Torrey Pines Glider Port and repeat the actions Misha and I had taken on Valentine’s Day: the forbidden scenic trail atop the narrow cliffs followed by the harsh decline along the stone and wooden steps leading to the Black’s Beach shore. With the weather chilly and murky, the beach is mostly deserted today. But sure enough, a handful of older men feel like liberating themselves. Still little girls at heart, it’s tough for Leslie and me to contain our laughter. “Will we ever mature?” I ask my friend.

“Probably not,” she says.

After a brisk 20 minute walk along the beach, it’s time to pick up Misha from work. With the three of us sitting in the car, we discuss our plans for the evening. Despite our burning legs from the afternoon’s hike, Leslie and I agree to more exercise and breathtaking scenery. Misha steps on the gas and we’re off to the most popular hike in San Diego: Cowles Mountain. The busyness of the hike lives up to its reputation as we arrive to a full parking lot and cars lining the street for a half mile from the entrance. The hike is a mile and a half to the top. We step through the entrance confident we’ll master this journey.

“Are you sure this is only a mile and a half?” Leslie asks 8 steps into the hike.

I look up towards the peak, barely able to make out a series of specks moving up and down the trail. After a shaky-legged half mile climb up this rocky surface we make the decision to turn back.

“The sun is setting anyway,” I reason. “And we don’t have flashlights for the hike down.”

Walking towards the car, I think to myself how grateful I am to live in a place with a beautiful skyline, rolling hills and countless mountains enriched with the distinct nature of this dry climate.

The sun has set and our bellies are rumbling again. Misha, Leslie and I are craving seafood and thus head to The Fish Shop for dinner. This local restaurant was recommended to us by Grant and Rachel. The line for food extends well outside the restaurant doors, indicating the appeal of this food. We view the menu, which is set up for the customer to choose a type of fish and marinade and whether they want the meal in a taco, salad or entree. A perk here is that buyers can bring their own wine. A bottle of while, a fillet of Salmon, and lobster and crab tacos later, we head home and call it an early night in preparation for tomorrow’s big plans.

While the acclaimed San Diego Zoo is a convenient a half mile from our home, the lesser known San Diego Zoo Safari Park is located 45 minutes away from us, in Escondido. We arrive here at a quarter till 11. At the ticket booth, we gaze at the detailed map. The woman selling us our tickets points to a small parking area on the left side of the map. “The San Diego Zoo can fit inside our parking lot,” she says.

The three of us study the layout of the Park and determine the path we will take. The 70 degree forecast is in our favor. The animals are as active as I’ve seen at any zoo or safari. We walk by a roaring lion, admire a mommy gorilla caring for her baby, stare at hungry giraffes and laugh at bathing elephants before getting on the Africa Tram. This tour not only guides us through a variety of African animals in colossal habitats, but also offers a view of the almost extinct Northern White Rhino. The San Diego Zoo Safari Park boasts 1 of 4 remaining in the world.

On our way out we pass a sign signaling the Cheetah Run begins in 15 minutes. We decide to stay and capture this spectacle of speed. I watch in awe as a cheetah chases a toy at 70 miles per hour. Impressed by the Safari and thankful for having been lucky enough to be here on a day the animals were so active, we exit the park.

Leslie leaves tomorrow so tonight she treats Misha and me to sushi and sake at a recommended restaurant in North Park. As Leslie hadn’t spent time in our neighborhood yet, this is the perfect location for our meal. I feel so lucky to have a friend like Leslie come visit me all the way from Georgia. Beginning in 5th grade, while riding scooters around the neighborhood, our friendship continues to blossom. I feel a wave of sadness because I don’t know the next time I will see Leslie. One thing’s for sure – when I do, we’ll pick up right where we left off.

By the end of our first weekend in San Diego, Riley and I have impressively gathered just about everything we will need for the next three and a half months. My teal colored Schwinn road/mountain bike hybrid rests lazily beside Riley’s classic Bianchi on our porch. Beside our green, yellow and red striped couch a new printer (costing $5 on Craigslist) spits out paper like the first Pulitzer Press. And by the front door a used grey tennis basket filled with 80 or so tennis balls and a red agility ladder lean against the pale white wall. Oh, and we even have 2 new friends: Samantha and Jordan, who we got in contact with through Riley and Samantha’s mutual friend, Abbey. And of course, I’ve made time to play a round of disc golf at Balboa Park, the number one most played disc golf course in the world.

Our second week in this city of never-ending blue skies and an eerily minute temperature range (between 68 degrees and 76 degrees Fahrenheit) begins with work-related errands. Riley spends hours driving back and forth from various school districts, handing in her substitute-teacher application while I travel to all parts of San Diego and the surrounding towns interviewing for tennis positions and privately coaching aspiring tennis stars. In my free time I coordinate with our handyman, Hank, and our landlord, Ed, in attempt to fix the door which won’t close and internet which won’t work. “Миша? вы говорите по руски?” were the first words spoken to me by Ed, meaning “Misha? Do you speak Russian?” Turns out, he’s Russian and Jewish, like me.

It’s been barely over a week since we’ve arrived here and due to Riley’s endless network of friends we have another double date tonight. This time with Ainsley and Patrick. Ainsley is the sister of Riley’s good friend and former coworker at Dunwoody Springs Charter School, Courtney. Riley and I park our car down a dark street about a quarter mile away from this hopping brewery/restaurant. Ballast Point is the name, home to the unreasonably expensive Grapefruit Sculpin IPA beer. We arrive at the doorstep of this intricately designed boat-themed building. Another couple arrives simultaneously. Although I have never seen or heard a description of our soon-to-be companions tonight, my gut tells me these two are who we will be dining with tonight. Tall, blonde-haired and blue eyed, Ainsley is a beautiful woman, appearing about the same age as us. Her lover, Patrick, bears similar tall and handsome features. With long, fashionably imperfect hairstyles and wide, carefree smiles, both look like they belong at the beach. Probably why they reside, well, on the beach. The four of us spend a lovely night together drinking, eating and talking. I am instantly drawn to this couple and foresee many friendly times together in the future.

Our second weekend arrives before we even remember the first one ending. I play my first tennis league match and win. In the process I make a friend, Freeman, who invites Riley and me to his Super Bowl party in a few weeks. With few obligations and a bit more free time Riley and I spend a lot of quality time together. We bike together before the sun sets, take leisurely trips to the grocery store, and sit on our porch reading and writing. This form of time consumption passes just as quickly as when we were frantically driving everywhere within a 35 mile radius of our home, attempting to capture jobs and household items. Before I know it, it’s Sunday night and I’m staring at my computer screen, the mouse-arrow resting atop the “Submit Payment” button. After weeks, actually months, of contemplation this is the closest I’ve been to finally purchasing a drone. With the $2,700 commitment staring me straight in the face, a few beads of sweat form atop my shivering hand. I press down on the mousepad. The order has been placed. In two days I will receive my drone allowing Steven and my business, dubbed Sky Vision Studios, to take flight.

Monday, January 25 rolls around marking Riley’s first day of work. She bikes the 2 plus miles to the home of the woman whose three kids need a nanny. The oldest is 4 years old. The youngest is 5 weeks old. Monday also marks the day I find out if I passed the CBEST. For those who forgot or who missed it, the CBEST is the exam I took in San Francisco on January 10 in attempt to become a certified substitute teacher. The exam during which I illegally blocked an inch of a woman’s driveway with Riley’s car, resulting in the vehicle being towed and me paying $700 to liberate it. A bittersweet moment as I read my passing scores, wondering if it was worth all the trouble.

To put it bluntly, I spend the next few days bumming around. I ride my bike a good bit, exploring the local farmers market and some of the local shops. I run nearly every day and play tennis whenever I find a willing opponent. I spend way too much time cleaning our home of things that don’t need to be cleaned. And I get a fair amount of reading and writing done. On Thursday Riley and I attend the substitute orientation for La Mesa Spring Valley School District. In a few weeks we’ll be able to start subbing in this district located about 10 miles east of our residence. The next day we run 10 miles along the coast, from Mission Beach to Pacific Beach to La Jolla and back the way we came.

On Friday night my drone arrives. I spend all of Saturday piecing it together and watching countless hours of YouTube tutorials. Riley goes to Pacific Beach with Ainsley and Patrick while I continue working on my new obsession. Antsy beyond belief, around midnight I’m ready to take my baby on her first flight. That was my first mistake – flying at night. Not quite following the tutorials, I approach an area only moderately well lit. But to compensate, I ensure there’s minimal obstructions in the sky. I’ll merely start her up, fly her 5-6 feet in the air for a minute or so, land her, and call it a night, I tell myself. I turn the remote controller on, followed by the drone battery. So far so good. I place the controller in GPS mode and calibrate the drone, connecting it to the 7 nearest satellites. I then press the joysticks down and towards each other to start the motors and propellers. Wonderful. Slowly but surely I press the left joystick towards the sky, instructing the drone to elevate. And that’s exactly what she does. I stop at about 3 feet. Suddenly the drone begins to drift to the right towards a fence. That’s not supposed to happen, I panic. I zoom the drone to the left, but she begins to inch downwards towards the ground. I zoom the drone up. Again, she drifts to the right towards the fence. Panic blinding me, I’m unable to save the drone from hitting the chain-linked fence. Down she falls onto her side before bouncing up wildly and hitting the fence again. With the propellers flaying I have no option but to turn the remote controller off. Big mistake. Once the controller is turned off, the drone loses connection and shoots up into the sky at an unimaginable speed, slicing my leg in multiple places with its carbon propellers. Just as the drone is about to fly away into the pitch black sky forever, I manage to slap it down with my left hand. The propeller slices a chunk of my left thumb off, hovers in place for a second and then shoots up into the sky again. There goes $2,700 I think to myself holding back tears of pain and sadness. Just then, a miracle happens and the drone slams into the only thin sliver of telephone wire in the area. A spark of current as the two conduits of electricity merge and the drone comes toppling down before slamming against the top of a wooden fence and tumbling into a stranger’s fenced in yard. Silence. I climb the fence, smearing blood on the unvarnished wood, and jump into the yard retrieving my lifeless piece of technology. All 4 propellers have snapped in half and a bloody thumbprint resides on the drone body. Feeling agonizingly numb, I gather the shards, climb back over the fence and head home.

I have trouble sleeping that night. And early the next morning I have a tennis match in Coronado. My finger still bleeds and I can’t hold the racquet in my left hand, causing me to lose the match badly. The only redeeming aspect of the morning is meeting my tennis opponent, Ted. Ted is in his 50’s and a very skilled tennis player. After hearing about Steven and my start-up he offers me the names of 3 realtors in the area with whom I should network. He also informs me that his girlfriend works for a local CPA firm that may be interested in taking me on as a part time employee. I thank Ted for the offer but tell him I’m not interested.

The following week Riley begins substitute teaching in North County. These schools are a ways away (about 25-30 miles) and are attended by mostly affluent students. “The school lobby looked fancier than some of the nicest hotels I’ve been in,” Riley illustrates to me after her first day subbing in Encinitas.

Realizing it’s been nearly a week since I’ve spoken to my mom, I give her a ring. We shoot the shit and catch up on our lives, now separated by thousands of miles. Upon informing her about my encounter with Ted this past weekend (leaving out the missing chunk of finger), my mom’s tone of voice becomes very serious: “Misha, that’s an amazing opportunity. You can earn money, gain experience doing taxes and still have plenty of free time to explore. You need to speak to that man again and at least look into the job he’s suggesting.” And I do exactly that. I shoot Ted an email requesting the contact info for the owner of the firm. Ted gets back to me within a few hours with a name and an email address. “Shoot him your resume,” he tells me. So I do, along with a narrative explaining my desire to travel the country while avoiding going broke. The next day I hear back from the company’s secretary. She informs me that the owner, Mike, would like to have a phone interview with me the next day. The next day (Thursday) I speak with Mike and we seem to connect quite well. The secretary then calls me again informing me that Mike would like to meet me in person the following Monday, February 9. The farther along I get in this process the more I desire this job. Although I have zero experience doing taxes (I’m an auditor by trade), I believe this will be a wonderful skill to learn. Plus, some financial peace of mind.

The following night Riley and I have yet another double date. This time the victims are Rachel and Grant, close friends of another couple, Alana and Will, with whom Riley was close with in Atlanta. We meet at Rachel and Grant’s house on the border of La Jolla and Pacific Beach and chat for a bit over a Heineken before walking over to a nearby Italian restaurant. It’s a tradition of ours to eat pasta the night before a big race. Oh, I don’t think I mentioned the race yet. I’ll get there in a minute. So Rachel, Grant, Riley and I eat and converse. I am mesmerized by Grant’s epic tales of living on a pirate ship for nearly 2 years and his adventurous hobbies of spear fishing, paddle boarding and exploring the depths of Mexico.

“We need to hang out with them more often,” I tell Riley after our meal. “They are so cool!”

Riley and I go to bed early that night knowing that we have a big race in the morning. Riley set a goal about a half decade ago to run a half marathon in every state. The Mermaid Series San Diego Half Marathon will be run in her 10th state. If you haven’t gathered by the name of the race, the Mermaid Series is an all-women’s race. Unfazed by the pink website background, the pictures of women all over the website and the survey questions asking which women’s magazine she would like to subscribe to, Riley registered for this race thinking it was your typical co-ed half-marathon. But it wasn’t. I was one of 8 male racers. Not that I’m complaining about running along the gorgeous coast of Mission Bay on a perfect morning with over 1000 fit women scrambling all around me, but I certainly didn’t fit in with my fellow racers. Excited by the estrogen around me, I run my fastest half marathon time of 1:46:37 (an 8:08/mile pace). Riley finishes with an impressive time of 1:56:50. Exhausted yet happy, Riley and I drive home, eat a large lunch and head to Coronado Beach, where we meet up with Ainsley and Patrick. We sunbathe and talk on the pure, white sand to the background sound of waves splashing against the shore. A beautiful, yet moderately populated beach, I find much appeal to this place.

After a surprisingly energetic half hour of Frisbee toss, the 4 of us pack our cars and drive over to Coronado Brewing. The beer is delicious. I down 2 tasty IPAs while munching a glorious bratwurst burger while Riley and our companions enjoy quesadillas. Our bellies feeling content, we exit the brewery and part ways. Soon after arriving home, a coma sets in and we call it an early night.

I sleep way too many hours and wake up Sunday morning with renewed purpose in life. As I had been sporadically for the past week, I commit to spending most of today filming with my drone. I drive around all of San Diego, from Balboa Park to PetCo Park to Coronado Beach and film anything and everything that may appear impressive from the sky. As we do nearly every night, Riley and I cook again tonight. A mouth-watering trout, asparagus and rice meal is on the menu tonight.

While Riley babysits Monday afternoon, I prep for my interview. Glad I brought a suit and ties, I think to myself. Dressed in my fanciest attire, I print 3 copies of my most updated resume and hop in the car at 20 minutes past 1. My interview is at 2:00pm, but I get there fifteen minutes early. I take my time adjusting my unusually long hair and wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead. I enter the building and ascend to the second floor, where Mike’s office is situated. A woman with shoulder length black hair and a contagiously wide smile welcomes me in and seats me in the lobby. Soon after, a tall, wiry man in his 50’s with the friendliest of eyes and an equally pleasant smile comes out of the hallway. “Misha?” he asks.

I stand up and stick my hand forward. “Nice to meet you in person, Mike,” I say, looking my potential future boss directly in the eyes, as I was taught as a teenager.

We walk into Mike’s office and talk for about an hour. I come out desiring the job even more than before. I then am guided to the conference room where one by one I meet Olivia and Janet, two of the company’s managers. Some expected and some unexpected interview questions and discussions later the interview process is concluded. “I’m going to interview the final candidate today and you’ll know if you get the job by tomorrow night,” Mike explains before ushering me out. Feeling stressed from 2 hours of exhibiting professionalism yet elated from the prospect of working for these wonderful individuals, I descend the stairs and head back to my car. The following evening I have an employment offer in my inbox. A sense of relief encompasses me as for the next 2 months I will have financial security.

We follow the sidewalk running along the one way road dubbed Boundary Street for about 100 feet before veering to the right onto a dirt alley barely wide enough to fit a Mini-Cooper. Another 50 feet and we stop at a wooden fence, about a foot and a half taller than me. My body tingles with anticipation as our realtor, Cathy-Ann, fidgets with the stubborn lock as she attempts to insert a key into the heavy-duty lock securing the fence closed.

This past month of traveling has been an incredible experience, and the timing couldn’t have been any more perfect, but I’m now ready to have a place to call home. There are joys that can only be attained traveling, but a girl like me eventually needs the stability of her own bed, clean bathroom, and organized closet. Seemingly ages later, the gate swings opens. We are exposed to a short, rectangular cottage separately fenced in from a larger unit in which our landlord and his fiance reside in. immediately before us rests a round metal table and four white, cushioned chairs under a spacious cloth umbrella. Beside it, a small, leafless tree and potted plants chatter among themselves A hummingbird, half the size of my palm, sweeps past my frizzling hair. With clear blue skies and a 75 degree forecast, I already foresee many afternoons spent reading and relaxing on this veranda.

As we approach the front door I notice “Shalom” written on a decoration hanging by the front door. As we later learn, the owner of the home is both Russian and Jewish, not unlike Misha. With a little less trouble, Cathy-Ann cracks open the front door. We are welcomed by a comfortably quaint room embodied by tile floors, wooden cabinets and jubilant decorations. It only takes a few seconds to identify everything in this charming living room and kitchen. Beside the door resides a small round kitchen table covered in a flowery table cloth. Almost pressed against it is a massive stainless-steel refrigerator large enough to house 2 family’s worth of food. To the right of the fridge are granite counter tops, an oven and stove and a washer and dryer. Opposite the kitchen sleeps a petite brightly striped couch, a wooden coffee table and a modest sized television atop a wooden TV-stand.

This room has everything one would need. It’s small, but not too small. It’s the perfect size for a couple with limited possessions. Our short tour continues into the bathroom, located beside the washer/dryer. My eyes brighten as (in my opinion) the most important room in the house sparkles with beauty. The spacious, tile-floored shower bears a tile-seat and a glass door. The porcelain toilet and shiny sink fit comfortably beside it.

Cathy-Ann, Misha and I then migrate to the bedroom, located on the opposite side of the house. Again, my expectations are exceeded. A queen sized bed screaming my name, a 3 drawer IKEA-esque dresser screaming Misha’s, a tall white wardrobe for my excessive supply of dresses, and a large wooden book shelf filled with months’ worth of books and games is more than we could have asked for.

I look over and see Misha grinning at me.

“Our first home together,” he says as he walks over and embraces me in a big bear hug.

We spend the bulk of the evening unpacking, only taking a break to watch an obnoxiously vibrant red, pink and purple sunset. We then ride over to the local Trader Joe’s for some groceries. Misha and I cook a delightful steak meal and down it with some celebratory red wine. We have successfully journeyed from Atlanta, Georgia to San Diego, California. This marks the end of a wonderful chapter in our lives and the beginning of the next.

I wake up my first day in San Diego to another perfect morning. Before starting my to-do list, I decide to go on a run through our neighborhood known as North Park. We chose to live in North Park as we had been informed by many that this up-and-coming neighborhood is the hip area for young people like ourselves. I begin my run. A half mile from our cottage lies University Avenue, a street boasting the neighborhood’s downtown. This diverse area provides a plethora of cafes , restaurants, coffee shops, boutiques, and microbreweries. A theatre and weekly farmer’s market also add to the variety. As I observe the countless happy youth and adults flood these eccentric streets and shops I already feel myself falling in love. There is already an overwhelming amount of things and places I’m ready to experience here.

The hours begin to fly by as Misha and I continue getting settled into our new home. Misha spends most of his time on Craigslist finding us deals on road bikes, a bike rack, impenetrable bike locks, a wine rack, and other essential items we weren’t able to squeeze into my compacted car. He also begins coordinating with potential tennis clients he’s gathered through various online and offline outlets. I spend my hours doing research on the required paperwork for substitute teaching. The process is a lot more complicated than I thought. Unlike Fulton County in Atlanta, San Diego County is divided into 42 separate districts each with unique requirements. Scheduling an appointment for fingerprints and teacher credentialing at the San Diego County Education Office is only the first step. Feeling the stress already rolling in I take a deep breath and continue on with my productivity.

Needing a break from filling out substitute teacher applications and attempting to master the art of scanning documents on our newly acquired (for $5), fresh-out-of-the-box printer, I check my email. I’m pleased to find an email from a woman I had been communicating with on http://www.care.com. She asks if I’d be interested in babysitting her 3 young children. I give her a call and after a 30 minute conversation, I am invited to come meet the kids the following Monday. Misha and I eat dinner that night with a sense of accomplishment. We both got an unprecedented amount of work accomplished today.